


Cellmates

by skeleteen



Series: Prompted [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Established Relationship, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleteen/pseuds/skeleteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets kidnapped in the same cell as the Avengers.</p><p>Prompt:<br/>So I always wanted a fic where Stiles gets taken prisoner, and the avengers are there as well, but they haven't ever met Stiles yet( I don't mind if you leave out Thor or the Hulk ) And they are all in a cell together ( You can decide why, but that doesn't really matter) I'd love it if the bad guys treat Stiles badly and the avengers get protective :)<br/>And they get rescued by the pack and Phil Coulson & Nick Fury<br/>I would have written it myself but I am bad at the Avengers' personality :)<br/>( Any ships are fine but bonus points if Stiles keeps talking about his hot boyfriend Derek )ht.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cellmates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waded/gifts).



“Who's the kid?” Natasha mutters, narrowing her eyes at the scrawny brunette teenager passed out at the end of the dimly lit room.

“Really, that's your first comment?” Tony stares blankly at the red headed assassin, pulling on restraints holding his elbows, hands, and torso to the wall. “Not, I don't know,  _ how the hell did we get kidnapped? _ ”

“Grow up, Tony.” Steve sighs.

“While you're at it, shut up.” Clint groans. “I think they hit my head to knock me out.”

“I’m drugged.” Bruce nods his head to his wrists, bound above his head, where a thin tube can be seen trailing down the wall, entering the back of his neck. “Can't feel the green guy at all.”

“We all are.” Steve narrows his eyes, analyzing his team. “Tubes to the neck.”

“Thor is knocked out.” Natasha comments, lifting a leg with a gymnast’s precision and attempting to reach the alien’s frame with her shoe. “I can’t get to him.”

“I think that's the point.” Bruce scrunches his nose in frustration. “We're all close enough to be personal, but not touch. Not feel. Just see.”

He’s right. The room is a cool, dark, metal rectangle with one escape: a door on one short side of the room, lined with nothing but metal. There was no way to actually use it to get out without the Hulk, maybe, but that doesn’t look promising. Along the lengths, the Avengers sit bound to the wall. Natasha, Steve and Thor sit opposite Tony, Bruce, and Clint.

That leaves one empty width, where a teenager unbeknownst to the soldiers sits unconscious. He has messy brown hair, that which comes from inattention to personal appearance, and a slightly upturned nose. Small moles dot across his body, the kind that beauty marks would be named after, visible through a torn up red tee shirt and a pair of joggers.

He has whiskey brown eyes. 

Eyes. Crap, they're open.

“He's awake.” Steve scooches as far towards Bruce as his restraints will allow to put distance between him and the stranger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The teen blinks his bambi eyes to adjust to the lighting. “Where's my pack?”

“Same boat as you, kid.” Tony grumbles. “No clue who took us, why they took us, where we are, or what's going to happen. Got any knowledge that would make yourself useful?”

“Thanks for the hopeful welcome wagon.” He says with a sarcastic grimace of a smile. “My name is Stiles,  _ super  _ nice to meet you all too.”

“Just tell us what you know.” Natasha says in a low tone. “And we can all be on our merry way to figuring this shit out.”

“Ooh, touchy.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m kidnapped every other week these days. My pack will find me.”

“Pack?” Steve shakes his head. “Is that a gang or were you raised by wolves?”

Stiles laughs. “I  _ raised  _ wolves - werewolves. Teenage werewolves.”

“You're a werewolf.” Clint humours. “Of course, why did I not expect that from the scrawny kid in the corner that apparently gets kidnapped every week?”

“I’m not a werewolf, but my boyfriend and his betas -  _ my best friends _ \- are.” He snorts. “And they're quite fond of me. This wouldn't be the first organization to die for my sake.”

“That would be comforting had they not captured and subdued  _ Thor. _ ” Natasha smiles humourlessly. “So I would lose that hope real quick, it will make you reckless and get you killed.”

“Oh shit, I know you guys.” Stiles barks a laugh. “How did I get caught up with the Avengers?”

Steve senses the nervous layer behind the humour and frowns. “How did you get caught up in werewolves and kidnapping?”

“Touché.” He sighs. “It’s either luck or misfortune, I haven’t quite decided.” 

“Why would somebody want a werewolf’s friend  _ and  _ us?” Bruce muses.

“I’m a werewolf’s  _ mate _ , actually.” He grins slightly. “It took three years to convince him to date a teenager, thank you very much. Dating is a big deal for those who howl at the moon.”

“Okay, why would somebody want a werewolf’s  _ mate  _ and us?” Tony snorts.

“Beats me.” He shrugs.

(Or, he tries to shrug, before becoming self aware of the metal and leather bands attached to the wall that wrap under his armpits, holding his shoulders in place.)

Steve notices the falter in his relaxed facade. 

Apparently Natasha does too, because her face softens. 

“You don’t have to put on a brave, comedic face for us.” She says quietly. It doesn’t sound soft or maternal - it sounds realistic. Her tone doesn’t make him feel stupid, but it does make him listen. “You’ve been kidnapped before, I get it. Sarcasm is a coping mechanism, but it it’s a survival plan, not an  _ escape  _ plan. As of right now, the threat seems above the head of your pack.”

Stiles frowns. 

She continues. “Or at least it will be for longer than you’re expecting.”

“Translation: cut the shit.” Clint smirks. “You’re terrified.”

“Well, duh.” He snaps. “I’ve dealt with witches and goblins and nogitsunes. I haven’t had the pleasure of secret governmental organizations.”

“We don’t know that’s what we’re dealing with.” Steve says pointedly. “We shouldn’t act on assumptions.”

“Sorry, star-spangled-shitstick.” Stiles smiles sarcastically at the super soldier. “You left the costume at home, quit being a captain. I’m under the _ assumption  _ that we’ve all been kidnapped. Was there a bondage orgy I missed the signup sheet for or is that one safe to call a fact?”

“The situation and the perpetrator are different.” The blonde grits his teeth in frustration. “We can’t assume it’s a separate government to our own. It could be an internal terrorist group.”

“Whoever it is, I don’t see a reason why our paths would cross.” He huffs, tilting his head up in contemplation. “Jesus, the last thing I did was say goodnight to my boyfriend on the phone walking up to my house. Next thing I know, needle in my shoulder, hand around my waist and arms, bag over my head, and unconscious before I landed in whatever vehicle they - wait.”

“What?”

“Two things. First, my dad is the Sheriff. He has cameras surveilling our house from not only ours, but our neighbors. I doubt they disabled all of them.” He smiles, and a flicker of hope sparks inside his heart. “That’s a lead. He’s in on the supernatural and stuff, so he’ll make sure my pack and law enforcement are on it.”

“Second?” Bruce prompts.

“What does an octopus mean to you? I remember one on the arm that grabbed me. I looked down.” He squints his eyes, as if that will clarify the picture in his head. “It was a patch, almost? On the sleeve.”

“With a skull head?” Natasha asks, deathly serious.

“I-I think so. It was red, if that helps.”

Steve strains against his restraints, crying out. “Dammit, HYDRA, what the hell do you want with a kid!”

He stares at the man with wide eyes. “Uh, like, evil HYDRA?”

“A mix between the supernatural and government, I suppose.” Bruce sighs.

Tony scoffs. “We still have no idea what they want with him. Or us.”

“This is  _ all  _ of us, okay?” Stiles exclaims. “You can say us and him to separate yourself from me, but the fact is that we are in this room for a reason. I don’t know what it is and neither do you, but that puts us together, not apart.”

Clint huffs. “You’re not an Avenger.”

“If my pack gets here before your rescue squad - which, by the way, is usually  _ yourselves _ \- then I’ll make sure to let them know we aren’t working together.” Stiles smiles sarcastically.

Bruce laughs lightly. “I’m with the kid.”

“You love the underdog, don’t you?” Clint tilts his head mockingly. “What a sweetie pie.”

“Shut up, birdbrain.” Tony rolls his eyes. “We all take in strays.”

Stiles finds himself smiling when suddenly the room starts to shake. 

“What’s happening?” He cries, kicking his legs out for some sort of grip as the wall holding him hostage starts moving backwards, distancing him from the worried stares of the Avengers. 

“Stiles, stay calm.” Natasha calls out, but he hears a falter in her voice and his panic only increases.

The wall stops.

He looks to his sides and sees that it opened into a larger room, lined with various knives, other items intending to cause bodily harm, and glass containers filled with strange coloured liquids.

“No.” He whines pitifully, pulling against the metal and leather to no avail. Unpleasant memories of walls of weapons flash in his mind. “No, no, no!”

“Stiles?” Steve shouts. The group’s distance went from three meters to roughly twelve during his move.

“I think I found out why I’m on this wall.” He swallows his words as a figure in a completely opaque, black suit enters his line of vision. Despite every part of their body being covered in thick canvas material, he can make out a masculine shape to them.

_ I’m strong _ , he repeats in his head.  _ I can do this. _

Stiles watched the man runs a gloved hand over a particularly sharp knife.

He faints.

▪

His eyes are so fucking heavy.

“He twitched.” He hears Bruce mutter. 

“Stiles?” Steve calls.

He tilts his head back against the wall so that he can allow himself to open his eyes a sliver and still see the groups faces without exerting much effort. 

“Why can't I move my legs?” He mumbles.

“The person who attacked you tied your knees with a braided rope to your chest so you would slide back with the wall easier.” Natasha explains calmly “You can try to struggle against it, but they used at least four different types of knots. It will be near impossible.”

“Jesus, did you all analyze my torture?” He croaks, shifting his position as best as he can. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”

His arms ache, his left leg is throbbing, and he can feel blood in his right ear, but he doesn’t voice the comments. They wouldn’t be worth much.

“There wasn’t much else to watch.” Tony scoffs. “Bastards just pulled the wall back and beat the shit out of you for no reason. And they took off your shirt. Perverts.”

“Not the first time I’ve been beat up for no reason, unsurprisingly.” He mutters, smirking. “My mouth always gets me in trouble.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Bruce frowns. 

Stiles sighs. “My comedic relief is all I have.”

“We have hope.” Steve nods. “That’s all we need.”

“Steve, he looks like shit.” Clint comments.

“You all fill me with such confidence.” He snorts, wincing when his chest protests with a sharp pain. He doesn’t bother looking down, as he’s not sure he’d be able to lift his head back.

He thinks of Derek, his boyfriend _ ,  _ and closes his eyes. He can picture him in his mind, stoic to anyone but him, with thick, dark eyebrows and rocking abs. I mean, he could be thinking about his fierce loyalty or rare and breathtaking smiles, but you really need to see these muscles.  _ Supernatural muscles.  _

He’s been held captive before, but he’s never felt so  _ vulnerable _ before. He can’t even move his legs - it’s humiliating. 

Derek would hate seeing him like this.

“Irrational confidence is Steve’s thing.” Tony huffs. “Clint, not so much.”

“I have confidence in the fact that he looks like shit.”

“I  _ feel  _ like shit.” He mumbles, forcing his eyes open to look at the Avengers. “What’d they do to me? I saw a knife.”

The room is silent. 

“Is it that bad?” He chuckles awkwardly.

“Other than some bruises, you’ve got the HYDRA symbol carved into your chest, on the right side.” Natasha says quietly. “It’s scarification, a surface wound that will create a permanent picture once the body tries to heal itself. My guess is that they want to send a message.”

“They did it because I told you it was them, didn’t they?” He says in an equally soft tone, letting out a short breath. 

She nods. “Most likely.”

He smiles lightly. “I guess we really are in this together now.”

There’s a light chuckle throughout the room and he feels a little bit lighter. None of them are looking at him weird for being tied to the wall in the absolute strangest position, but rather ignore it. They talk to him like he’s sitting on a couch and not tied and beaten up, like he’s one of them. Time passes like it does with his pack, and pretty soon they’ve passed through stories like old friends.

“Wait, so you have two Alpha’s?” Bruce’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“No, I have one.” He says slowly. “Derek is my Alpha, and my boyfriend. Scott is like my brother, so he’s a close ally of our pack. Some people, like another Alpha I know named Deucalion, always say we’re a joint pack, but we aren’t. That’s silly. He has his own betas and so does Derek, they just work together for common goals.”

“You’re calling it silly like we know how werewolves work.” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“I’d explain all about werewolves if we weren’t being monitored.” He offers a pout. “I don’t want to reveal anything to them that they could use against my friends.”

“Once we’re out of here then?” Steve smiles lightly.

“There’s that hope again!” Clint chuckles.

▪

He wakes up to the vibration of the wall moving and lets out a groan. The Avengers stir, concern rising on their faces when Stiles begins to move further away from them.

“What game are you playing?” Steve shouts. “He’s a  _ kid _ !”

The familiar black figure comes out of the side, and this time Stiles stays conscious, mustering up the best glare he can.

He doesn’t grab a weapon, though, he grabs a needle.

The protests of his new friends fade when it’s stabbed into his neck, his body going lax along with his mind.

▪

After surveying his surroundings, he realizes he’s in an interrogation style room similar to those which prisoners are questioned. His wrists handcuffed to the middle of a table and his legs strapped to the chair he’s been seated in. 

He’s still shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a loose pair of sweatpants on his lower half (he was just having a lazy day with Derek, okay?). The wounds are much easier to see outside of the ridiculous bondage. He has bruises all over his body, along with marks from rope and leather burning the flesh as he struggled against it. His chest is, well, branded. The wound isn’t close to healed, but he’s pretty sure they disinfected it and put some kind of cream on it when he was knocked out, because it looks clean. 

The wall he’s facing is a double-sided mirror, he’s positive. He smiles at it directly, offering a nod that implies he’s aware someone is looking at him.

It would be mildly embarrassing if he was just giving a  _ sup  _ nod to a wall, but an asian man in a black suit walks into the room from a door on his right after a minute. He has short black hair, gelled back, and a sharp gaze.

“Welcome to HYDRA, Mr. Stilinski.” The man smiles mockingly, his teeth straight and bright. “Have you enjoyed your stay?”

“What kind of questions could you possibly have for me?” He retorts.

“Are you aware SHIELD was monitoring you?”

His straight face falters for half a second, though he knows it didn’t get past the man. He doesn’t dignify it with a response. 

“Though your little Avenger buddies didn’t know about werewolves, SHIELD has been in contact with them for as long as its existence.” He pulls a chair from the corner of the room and drags it closer to Stiles, taking a seat across from him at the table. “You’re one of the only humans taking an  _ Alpha  _ position, though.”

“I’m not an Alpha.” He snorts.

The man doesn’t look discouraged, if anything he looks amused.

“SHIELD has been monitoring your pack from the inside for almost half a year, and our tech specialists have been sending that information directly to our base.” He offers a smug smile. “And from what they’ve gathered, your pack responds to you as an Alpha, and your Alpha even submits to you from time to time.”

“We’re  _ friends _ , we value each other beyond the fucking order of nature.” He growls. “So what?”

“This makes you special to us, Stiles. Have you heard of the super serum?” 

“Captain America gets his own unit in history class, you know.” He sighs.

The man clenches his fists. “It doesn’t work on werewolves, but you’re the closest we have to one. You’re a leader, you’re resourceful, and we’re going to turn you into our fucking bitch.”

“You couldn’t get someone who grew up with werewolves, someone trained from birth?” He asks with a fake smile. “The best you could get is a teenage boy with a likely case of PTSD and a whole slew of other mental issues?”

“You’re an  _ Alpha _ , Stiles. Even werewolves not a part of your pack respond to the instinct. You’ve inserted yourself into a very special position.” He leans back in his chair leisurely. “We’re taking advantage of it.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” He shakes his head. “And why do you need the Avengers?”

“Tell me, how do you feel about answering some questions about your pack?” The man smiles, revealing his perfect teeth once again. “We are exploring the possibility of you leading the Avengers as a pack of sorts, once we figure out the best way to get into their heads. I think you'd be cute leading superheroes, don't you?”

“Fuck you.” He spits.

“Wrong answer.”

He’s shocked by some sort of electric current. 

“Where is that coming from?” He fights to stop his body from shaking.

“You think you’re the only one with special friends?” He laughs cruelly. 

“Special isn’t evil.” Stiles glares.

“No.” He shrugs. “But special certainly does make evil more fun. Now do tell, what’s the deal with Scott McCall and Derek Hale's packs?”

“If you think I’ll say anything about them you are mistaken.” He says calmly, flinching at the feeling of electricity shocking him.

“I take it this is going to be a long interview?” The man sighs. “That’s quite alright, I can get creative.”

“Hit me with your best shot.” Stiles says.

He wishes he didn’t.

▪

He’s actually somewhat conscious as he’s returned to the cell. Is it even a cell? There isn’t a toilet or beds, but it is an enclosure. It feels more like a zoo, where they’re the exhibit.

Now that he thinks about it, he actually has no memory of eating, drinking, or going to the washroom while stuck in this situation. It has to have been days, at least. He pushes down the thought, grossed out at the thought of HYDRA controlling his bodily functions.

He’s shaking. They have to hold him down to tie him back to the wall.  _ They _ , meaning there is more than one, but he clenched his eyes closed halfway through the torture in response to the pain. The man in the suit stopped asking questions at some point, choosing to simply exercise new (or he assumed they were new by his excited remarks) torture techniques. 

“Stiles?” He cringes at the sound of Steve’s voice and murmurs incoherently.

“Oh my god.” He hears a whisper from Bruce, causing him to flinch.

“Be quiet.” Natasha speaks over them. “Let him rest.”

▪

Thor wakes up the next day. It gives Stiles a small spark of hope that HYDRA is preoccupied with his pack or SHIELD to effectively watch over them properly, but he doesn't let the thought fester.

“Mjölnir!” He shouts with the booming voice a thunder god should have. He gets further in struggling against his restraints than any of his fellow hostages, though he remains against the wall.

“Dude, shut up.” Clint groans. 

“I demand to know where my hammer is!” He shouts again. “Mjölnir!”

“Thor, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will find a way to cut it off.” Natasha growls.

Stiles woke up to the initial shouting, but didn’t make his consciousness public until Natasha spoke up.

“I second that.” He croaks, coughing to clear his throat.

“Why is this Midgardian in such a condition?” The man wonders aloud, his thoughts echoing the small room.

“Meet Stiles, Goldilocks. He’s got werewolf friends and is getting the shit kicked out of him by HYDRA, who kidnapped us.” Clint says with a fake smile. “You’re all caught up.”

“Are you friends?”

Tony doesn’t hesitate in replying with a quick, “Yes, yes we are.”

Stiles gives a weak grin at that.

▪

The wall starts moving again. Stiles barely manages a shaky sob, his body exhausted and his mind unprepared. 

He expects to see another person dressed in black, but instead his eyes meet a man with greying hair in a suit holding a gun. He freezes at the sight.

“Please don’t shoot me.”

“Stiles?” The man asks.

“Phil!” Clint shouts.

_ Phil  _ walks forward until he can see the Avengers sitting in the room that the wall pulled out of. 

“Found them all.” He says into his watch. “Room is clear, enter now.”

A black man with an eye patch walks into the room with purpose, followed by a sight that completely wrecked Stiles’ poker face. Seeing Scott run in with red eyes sweeps a blanket of safety onto Stiles. A roar sounds from behind him and a near feral Derek barges past the few members of the pack between him and Stiles. He covers the shaking boy with his body, cutting the restraints with his claws and pulling him into his arms. 

His Alpha is here to bring him home.

▪

“Stiles.” A familiar voice rings from his left once he wakes up.

“Derek!” He cries, trying to push himself from the bed.

His boyfriend makes it to his side in a few strides, pushing his leg back onto the bedside and meeting his lips. Stiles feels the throbbing aches all over his body dragging out of him (a power werewolves have through touch), and pulls apart, opening his eyes to see the black lines of pain fading into his face, having been pulled out through the kiss.

“Did you help them find me?” He whispers.

“I searched every day.” He swears. “I looked through books and contacted a bunch of witches and psychics, describing the guy who took you. We caught it on your dad’s neighbor’s security footage. They wiped yours, but they forgot to delete those. One knew a girl named Wanda and pointed me to her, who pointed me to SHIELD, who got me in contact with Coulson, who made the connection to HYDRA and got his team of superheroes on it.”

“That might be the most I’ve heard him say this entire time.” Director Fury comments. 

Phil nods. “It was mostly grunting and eye rolls.”

Derek demonstrates the eye roll, but his lip twitches into a smile. “You don't have to worry anymore. Every single person who had anything to do with this thing - they're all gone.”

“I’m so fucking glad.” Stiles sighs, leaning his forehead against Derek’s.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to go in there -” The voice of a SHIELD agent is cut off by Tony Stark barging into the room, followed by the rest of the Avengers. 

“So, do you mind if we went into detail about those werewolf stories now?” Bruce smiles sheepishly.

Derek flashes mischievous red eyes at Stiles and turns towards the team that helped keep his mate sane. 

They light up like excited children, except Natasha, who gives Stiles a proud, small smile.  
  


▪

“You know this all has to be a secret, right?” Steve frowns at Stiles.

“I don’t have a problem keeping secrets.” He chuckles, leaning into his mate’s side. “I’m going to need someone to pay for me to get rid of this scarification, though.”

“I think we can cover it up, but I don’t think we can just get rid of it.” Natasha cringes. “Anything you want on top of it?”

“I have an idea.” He trails his hand over the triskele tattoo on Derek’s back, and it feels like nothing less than a proposal.

Derek gives him a soft smile and nods.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my work(s), please consider buying me a coffee/supporting what I do so I can keep doing it: ko-fi.com/skeleteen


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